Tortured: Book Three of the Jason and Azazel Trilogy Read online

  "I don't know how," I said, but my voice was muffled by the toothbrush in my mouth.

  "What?"

  I spit into the sink and glared at her. "I don't know how."

  She laughed and went back into the bedroom.

  I rinsed out my mouth. "You're in really nice mood," I called after her.

  "Hormones," she shot back, "or did you forget I'm pregnant?"

  "If you hate being pregnant so much," I said, "then why don't you just get an abortion?"

  She reappeared in the doorway, a horrified expression on her face. "I can't believe you'd say that. Abortion is murder."

  "Okay," I said.

  "Don't tell me you think it's okay."

  "I . . ." If I were pregnant, there was no way that I could bring a child into the world Jason and I inhabited. Better for the fetus to be terminated in my womb than to live only to get shot in the head by the Sons. "The Sons are so freaking Catholic," I muttered.

  "Azazel, are you telling me you'd have an abortion?"

  "My life is too screwed up as it is," I said. "I don't have anything to give a kid." I pushed past her, through the bathroom doorway, and lay back down on my bed. "I'm going to sleep." I changed into my pajamas and crawled under the covers.

  "God," said Palomino, "what am I going to do?"

  "Tell Chance," I said, switching off my bedside lamp.

  "I'm not telling anyone," she insisted.

  "Sooner or later, people are going to figure it out."

  "Maybe not, if I wear the right clothes."

  "Jesus." Was she crazy? Did she really think she could keep this a secret?

  "And you can't tell anyone either. Promise me you won't."

  "Mina—"

  "Promise!"

  "Fine," I said. I closed my eyes and burrowed into the softness of my pillow. It was late. I just wanted to go to sleep.

  For several minutes, it was quiet. I heard Palomino climb back on her bed and open up her biology book. "Azazel?" she said.

  "Hmmm?"

  "If you don't know how, you're going to have to figure it out. You're the only one who can."

  "Figure out what?"

  "You know what. It's your body. You can't be afraid of your own body."

  I wasn't afraid of my body. Not exactly. My thoughts were getting sluggish as sleep crept up on me. I would worry about how to have orgasms in the morning. I drifted. My last thought was that I'd forgotten to drink before bed tonight again. But I was tired. Maybe I wouldn't dream . . .

  * * *

  I dreamed. In my dream, I was in a cheap hotel, lying on the stained bedspread, completely naked. I could feel the air from a chugging ceiling fan, which was badly fastened to the cracked ceiling.

  My arms and feet were tied to the bedposts. I struggled, but I couldn't pull away. I looked around the room, panicking. At the foot of the bed stood two figures. They were wearing long black hooded robes. They were holding a bell. I wasn't close to the bell, but I could see that it had an engraving of the sun rising over the ocean. I couldn’t see their faces.

  They were speaking to each other.

  "If we do this," said one, a female voice, "do you think it means we're evil?"

  "Evil?" said the other male. "It's just what comes naturally."

  "Naturally to you," she said.

  "Naturally to everyone," he countered. "Everyone wants her. Everyone wants to take her violently. Look at her skin. So soft, so vulnerable. Imagine how it will sound when she screams."

  The female giggled. "I like it when they scream."

  "I know you do, my sweet," said the male.

  I thrashed against the ropes on the bed. It was clear that something very bad was going to happen to me here. I was going to have to do something about it. If only I had a gun.

  Magically, the way it sometimes happens in dreams, I looked over on the bedside table, and a gun was there. I reached for it, but, of course, I couldn't even brush it with my fingertips.

  "I'm not vulnerable," I told the black-robed people. "I'm tough. I can take care of myself."

  "No," said the female. "You're weak and scared. And flawed. We're the strong ones."

  "If you touch me, I'll kill you," I said.

  The black-robed people laughed. "You won't kill us," they said together.

  "I can hear you now," said the male. "No, don't. Not like this."

  Not like this. That was what I'd said, a long time ago, to Jason in hotel when his hands were ripping at my clothes—

  And the male in the robe lowered his hood. It was Jason. He climbed over the foot of the bed to lie on top of me, laughing. "Not like this," he said again, mocking me.

  I shook my head. "No," I said. "No, don't be Jason."

  Jason was opening his robe over top of me. He wasn't wearing anything under it. "You know you want it," he said to me, his face hideously close to mine, twisted into a grotesque leer. "You love me."

  "No," I said. "No."

  The female lowered her hood. "Of course we love Jason," she said.

  She was me.

  I glanced from Jason's grinning face to my own. She (me) looked at me, laughter in her eyes. "We love Jason, because he taught us to kill."

  "You're mine," Jason whispered to me, his hands on my body, twisting and pinching me. It hurt.

  "No," I said again, but it was barely a whisper.

  She (me) was pushing Jason off of me. "No, no," she said. "You don't know how to do it. I'm the only one who knows how to do it." She shoved Jason off, onto the floor.

  He climbed back up, a wounded look in his eyes. "Am I that bad at it?"

  She (me) brandished the bell and pushed my legs apart. "I'm the only one who knows how to do it," she said, cackling.

  Everything went black.

  * * *

  I woke up breathless and sweaty, spasms racking my pelvis and thighs. I gasped, opening my eyes.

  Sunlight was pouring through the windows of my dorm room. I leapt out of bed, tumbled into the bathroom, and threw up in the toilet.

  There was nothing in my stomach for me to vomit. Instead, my empty stomach heaved on itself, bile rising in my throat. I spit, wiped my mouth with my hand, and collapsed on the floor next to the toilet.

  "You okay?" called Palomino from the bedroom. "I thought I was the one who was supposed to have morning sickness."

  "I had a nightmare," I told her, getting up off the floor. I crawled back into the bedroom and back towards my bed. Once there, I felt under the mattress for the bottle of vodka I had there.

  "Was it a gross nightmare?" Palomino asked.

  "Yeah," I said, taking a long swig of vodka and gagging at the taste.

  "Jesus, Azazel!" exclaimed Palomino.

  "I just . . ."

  I just couldn't face the dream. You didn't have to be Carl Jung to figure out what it meant. But I didn't want to think about it. Not Jason's violence. Not my violence. Not the fact I couldn't have orgasms. Okay, so I was bothered. Fine. Did it mean I had to have those horrible nightmares?

  "I just need this," I said, taking another long draught.

  "I think doing that is just going to make you throw up more," said Palomino, looking concerned. She'd never seen me drink in the morning. She'd never seen me drink so much. I kind of felt guilty about that . . .

  . . . but then the easy swimming sensation of liquor took over my thoughts, and I didn't feel guilty about anything.

  "I don't throw up," I told her. "Not anymore."

  "Azazel—"

  "Whatever," I said to her. "Shut up about it, or I'm calling Chance and telling him he's about to be a dad."

  "Don't you dare!" she said, sitting up straight in her bed.

  I shrugged. "Don't worry," I said. "I was joking anyway."

  "It wasn't funny," said Palomino.

  "I'm taking a shower," I said. "I have class." I took another nip from my vodka bottle. It was almost empty, but that was okay. I had more bottles of vodka underneath my bed. I'd probably be taking one with me in m
y purse today.

  "You're going to class that drunk?" Palomino called after me.

  "I'm not drunk," I told her.

  * * *

  "What do you think about the pole shift theory?" asked George Churchill.

  I was in my science class. My drunkenness was fading away, and I didn't like it.

  Professor Halverson sighed. "George," he said, "what does this have to do with plate tectonics?"

  "I just want to know your stance on it," said George. "I know it's not accepted by the mainstream scientific community, and I want to know why."

  I still had most of the small vodka bottle I'd brought with me to class left. I could go to the bathroom and take a few gulps of it. I raised my hand.

  Unfortunately, someone else did too, at that exact moment.

  Professor Halverson called on her first.

  "What's a pole shift?" she asked.

  Professor Halverson sat down at his podium heavily. "Okay, okay," he said. "You've succeeded in derailing me from my lecture for a few minutes. But all the information in Chapter Seventeen is on the exam, no matter what."

  I lowered my hand. He was going to talk for a while, wasn't he?

  "The theory goes that the earth's north and south poles will shift to a completely different location suddenly," continued the professor. "This would cause massive climate changes and disastrous consequences like floods and storms. Essentially it would be apocalyptic."

  "Why would that happen?" asked the same girl.

  "That's why it's so ridiculous," said Professor Halverson. "People think it will happen in 2012, when the Mayan calendar ends. They think the world will end. But there's no scientific basis for this theory. It's nonsense."

  I raised my hand again.

  "Ms. Smith, you have a comment?" asked Professor Halverson.

  "May I use the restroom?" I asked.

  Professor Halverson looked annoyed. "Fine," he said.

  * * *

  Chase was sitting at our usual table when Jason and I arrived at lunch. I didn't see Palomino anywhere. I considered walking around the dining room, trying to find her, but I was really too drunk to walk in an actual straight line, so I didn't think it would be a good idea. I'd had to lean on Jason just to get to the table to sit down.

  "What's wrong with my sister?" Chance demanded when I sat down.

  Jason just shook his head.

  "I'm fine," I told Chance.

  Jason heaved a huge sigh. "Azazel, you stay here, okay. I'm going to get us both some food. You need something in your stomach to soak that liquor up."

  "Liquor?" said Chance. "You're drunk?"

  "Shh!" I told him. "Someone might hear, and I might get in trouble."

  "Just watch her, please?" Jason said to Chance.

  "I don't need watching," I told Jason, but he was already walking over to the food line to get our trays. I turned back to my brother. I was feeling a little unsteady. It probably hadn't been a good idea to excuse myself to the bathroom during science and kill the bottle of vodka. I wasn't sure how much I'd had to drink this morning, but it was a lot. I tried to smile at Chance. "I'm fine," I said.

  "Why are you drunk, Zaza?" asked Chance. Chance was the only person alive who was allowed to call me Zaza. Everyone else who used to call me that was dead. Usually, it just reminded me of them. But with Chance, it didn't feel bad. It felt comforting.

  I bit my lip. "I've been having dreams," I said. I picked up the napkin on the table and began twisting it. "Chance, you know, there are things that Jason and I did. Things that I did. You don't know this, but Gordon and Noah aren't off doing some weird job for Grandma Hoyt together in California. There's no easy way to tell you this. They're—"

  "Who says you get to sit at this table?" interrupted a voice.

  It was Palomino. She was gripping her tray so tightly her knuckles were losing color.

  "Mina," said Chance, looking both happy to see her and concerned by her anger. "Sit down."

  "I'm not sitting with you," she said. "You'll have to move."

  "I'm not moving," said Chance.

  "I don't have anyone else to sit with," said Palomino.

  "Well, neither do I," said Chance.

  "Azazel is my friend."

  "She's my sister. Besides, I have to watch her. She's drunk."

  "I know. I watched her get wasted the minute she woke up this morning."

  Jason returned the table, sliding a tray full of steaming mashed potatoes and gravy in front of me. "Hi Palomino," he said. "Are you and Chance trying to work it out?"

  "I want him to leave," Palomino said.

  I looked up at Jason. "I can't eat this," I said.

  "You have to," he said, sitting down. "It'll make you feel better."

  "Smelling it is making me nauseous," I said.

  "Eat," Jason said. He turned back to Palomino. "Are you joining us?"

  "Not with him," she said.

  Chance hung his head. "You know what? Fine. I'll move."

  "No," I said. "I don't want you to move. This is all silly anyway. She just needs to talk to you." I looked at Palomino. "You should just tell him."

  Palomino sat down. "Don't even think about it, Azazel," she growled.

  "Tell me what?" said Chance.

  "Nothing," said Palomino icily.

  And then everyone was quiet.

  I looked down at my mashed potatoes, which seemed a little blurry. I wondered if the amount of alcohol I'd had to drink was impeding my vision. Could alcohol do that? I picked up my fork and poked at the potatoes. They kind of smelled good, but in a foreign way, like something I liked in a different state of consciousness.

  I looked over at Jason, and he gave the potatoes a meaningful look. Ugh. Fine. I took a tentative bite of potatoes. They did taste good. The cafeteria staff at the SolSolisSchool used the real thing, not instant potatoes. I chewed and swallowed, then took another bite, bigger this time. As I swallowed that, I felt sanity returning, my drunkenness beginning to fade. I didn’t want that. I put down my fork.

  "This is stupid," I said. "Palomino's pregnant."

  I don't know why I said it. I wasn't thinking clearly. Drinking tended to fuzz out my brain. I wanted my brain fuzzed out, because I didn't want to face my dreams or myself. But it had the unfortunate side effect of making everything else fuzzy too.

  Jason dropped his fork.

  Chance choked on his bite of roast beef.

  Palomino stood up, her chair squeaking against the floor. "I hate you, Azazel," she said. She stormed off. I was pretty sure she was crying again.

  Jason and Chance both gaped at me.

  I shrugged. "Well, Chance, don't just stare at me. Go after her," I told him.

  I took another bite of mashed potatoes. Maybe it would be better not to be so drunk after all.

  For several seconds nothing happened. I shoveled mashed potatoes into my mouth, feeling less and less drunk with every bite. Then Chance stood up. He was shaking.

  "Chance . . ." I started.

  But he walked away without looking at me.

  I took another bite of mashed potatoes. A big one.

  "How long have you known this?" Jason asked me.

  I swallowed my potatoes. "She told me not last night but the night before."

  "Why didn't you tell me?"

  "I just did," I said.

  "No," said Jason, "you just announced it to the entire table, and you said it kind of loud, so who knows who else heard."

  I flinched. "I didn't realize I said it so loud."

  "Well, you did. And you kept things from me. And we promised no more secrets."

  "It wasn't my secret," I said. "It was Palomino's. I didn't think I should tell you."

  "But you didn't have any problem blurting it out just a second ago."

  "I'm drunk," I protested.

  "Right," said Jason. "Well, that makes everything better." He stood up. "I'll see you in Calculus." And he walked off too.

  I bit my lip. I sure knew how
to clear a table, didn't I? I took another bite of mashed potatoes. They really were very good. It would be a shame to let them go to waste.